Psychic Lies (Wiccan Haus Book Four)

by Sara Daniel

  “I’m Sage Rowan. I’m fixing the herbs for your room, and I brought you some breakfast.”

  Another Rowan sibling. Surely, they had no murderous intentions. This woman, who was slightly smaller than her own tiny frame, appeared too sweet to be a threat to anyone.

  “I don’t need anything, but thank you,” Fiona said.

  Sage continued to fuss over a tray of what looked like dried leaves. “It’s a beautiful day today. Trixie’s meditation class is on the lawn and will be starting in a few minutes. You can get some fresh air and clear your mind. She also teaches deep breathing if you prefer. That starts a bit later.”

  Fiona glanced at the window, astonished that the sun was already high in the sky. She couldn’t possibly have slept that long. “I—maybe,” she said, surprising herself. She’d planned to stay in her room all week. Engaging in any activity that would put her in contact with the other guests held no appeal.

  “Good.” Sage beamed at her. “The view by the lake is gorgeous. You should try painting there.”

  “How did you—?”

  Sage tipped her head toward the paints and paper Fiona had brought.

  Fiona swallowed her panic. Of course. Sage wasn’t a psychic. She couldn’t ferret out her secrets. Yet, the room felt too confining to stay in.

  Ignoring the herbs and giving the incense candles wide berth, Fiona stepped into the empty hall. She pushed the button for the elevator, relieved to find it empty too. She just had to get through the lobby without drawing attention to herself, and then she’d be outside where she could meditate in silence.

  “Good morning, Fiona!” Myron shouted from the front desk the moment the elevator doors opened.

  She cringed but then made herself wave casually as she walked forward. If she acted like a normal guest, maybe everyone would treat her like one and wouldn’t give her a second glance.

  She wandered onto the lawn and stopped. The grounds were crawling with people. They were lying on mats, sitting on benches, and strolling along the paths. No one was running to lynch her.

  She took another step and nearly crashed into Soulmate Guy. No, she’d lectured herself not to think like that. But her soul ignored the warning, practically expanding in his presence, begging to be surrounded by his embrace, unconcerned that it had picked a mate from a race that, as far as she could tell, didn’t recognize soulmates—or mate at all.

  Regardless of whether he was her soul’s mate, knowing what a man’s embrace ultimately led to was usually enough to shut down her attraction. Unfortunately, this time it didn’t.

  “Hey.” He shot her a warm, friendly smile, very different from his annoyance bordering on accusation last night. His fingers lightly caressed her arm. “We meet again. Maybe this time we should introduce ourselves?”

  Did that mean he hadn’t caught her name? Maybe she could seize the chance to practice being an ordinary woman with no powers.

  “Fiona, right?” he continued. “I’m Armando.”

  The single word rolled off his tongue like he was telling her something much more intimate and forbidden than his name. The skin of her traitorous body tingled. No, she couldn’t be ordinary with this man. He made her feel things, things she wanted to act on—and she could not stray down a path that would activate her decidedly un-ordinary powers.

  “Nice to meet you,” she lied. “I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry. I have to go.”

  Nice to meet you—lie.

  I’m sorry—lie.

  I’m in a hurry—truth.

  I have to go—truth.

  Fiona Vetter would have been an interesting mix of contradictions if she wasn’t a murder suspect.

  “I’ll come with you,” Armando said.

  She took a step away, breaking contact. “I’m, uh, just going to meditation.”

  Sure she was. “Excellent. We can be new students together.”

  She looked dubious but led the way across the lawn.

  “Coming to meditation? I’m Trixie, and I’ll be leading you.” A tall, ethereal woman with long silver hair waved them closer. “We’re just getting started. Grab a mat, and no talking.”

  Fiona laid out her mat and seated herself cross-legged. She placed her hands on her knees and closed her eyes. After a moment of stillness, she sighed deeply and some of the tension seemed to flow out of her.

  Armando unrolled his mat close enough that his knee lightly rested against hers as he settled himself into the unnatural cross-legged position.

  Fiona frowned and opened her eyes.

  He smiled easily but didn’t move his leg away. “Sorry. Don’t let me disturb you.”

  “You’re not.”

  You’re not—lie.

  Despite her lies and skittish demeanor, she didn’t strike him as a cold-blooded schemer. He glanced at the instructor, who was on the other side of the class, but still lowered his voice, just in case she was serious about her no-talking rule. “What brings you to the Wiccan Haus, Fiona?”

  “Meditation is to be conducted in silence,” Trixie admonished with a steely glare in his direction.

  Fiona shifted her legs away. “I came to the Wiccan Haus for peace and quiet.” She closed her eyes again.

  She didn’t seem to be avoiding him out of guilt. Maybe she’d been blackmailed into providing a false vetting assessment, and now she’d come here to hide. That would certainly fit with what he’d seen of her so far. “Are you trying to get away from someone who’s bothering you?”

  She opened her eyes and looked straight at him.

  “Okay, point taken.” But her spunk gave him a thrill. The meditation class was a waste of time, but he enjoyed Fiona’s company.

  She, however, appeared to take Trixie’s suggestions to heart, staring out at the ocean beyond the cliffs, inhaling through her nose when directed to smell the fragrant flowers blooming around the edges of the lawn, and eventually closing her eyes and simply breathing deeply.

  Trixie pushed her curtain of silver hair over her shoulder as she walked between the mats, scrutinizing each person. She gave Fiona a satisfied nod, which Fiona didn’t see because her eyes were closed. Then Trixie aimed a severe frown at Armando, as if she knew he wasn’t putting forth any effort.

  “I want you to focus on something small—seemingly insignificant,” Trixie said to the group at large.

  Her suggestion gave him an idea. This class didn’t have to be useless to his investigation. He pulled Lizbet Jinsin’s silver lifebond ring from his pocket. “Use this,” he said to Fiona.

  Trixie snatched it, holding it between her thumb and index finger to show the class. But Fiona didn’t open her eyes to notice the object despite the fact that he’d intended it only for her.

  “Stare through the ring to find calmness and a full, relaxed life on the other side,” Trixie intoned.

  What a load of crap. Armando shifted uncomfortably, longing to stretch his legs. He tracked the progress of the ring between the rows of mats, regretting letting it out of his possession.

  “You have a relaxed, stress-free life that should be fully embraced,” Trixie’s hypnotic voice continued.

  The more he focused on the jewelry, the tenser he became. His whole future depended on solving the puzzle symbolized by that ring before the conventional police did.

  “You deserve it. Do it for you,” Trixie urged.

  Fiona’s eyes snapped open. She muttered something that sounded like, “I don’t deserve it.”

  Shoot. He’d broken physical contact with her. Not only had he not heard her clearly, he didn’t get a truth or lie reading on what might have been a significant confession. He leaned toward her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “What’d you say?”

  She glanced around the lawn, finally focusing on the instructor. “Uh, what is she holding?”

  “A lifebond ring. Those things are pretty old-fashioned. Most people don’t have lifebonding ceremonies, unless they’re from rich or very traditional families.”

  Fiona shuddered. “I
never want to see one of those again as long as I live.” She jumped off her mat and ran toward the Haus.

  I never want to see one of those again as long as I live—truth.

  Chapter 3

  ARMANDO STOOD, BUT HE COULDN’T FOLLOW FIONA until he got the ring back. As far anyone else knew, it was still locked in the evidence locker at the police station. He planned to return it tomorrow morning, the same time he planned to officially file the charges against Fiona.

  “Is everything okay here?” Cemil Rowan approached, looking from the ring Trixie was holding up to Armando. Cemil shook his head in apparent disgust and whispered, “As the head of the Department of Truth-Finding, I expected your word to mean something.”

  “I have reason to believe she’s involved in a murder plot,” Armando said. He’d been much more confident of that assessment when he’d come through the portal last night, even though he’d barely interacted with her since then.

  Cemil raised an eyebrow. “Really? And how did you jump to that conclusion?”

  He was not jumping to anything. He was a fair investigator with a single goal to expose the truth. This truth happened to carry implications for his department, his career and his reputation, as well. “She purposely fed Lizbet Jinsin erroneous information about her future with her lifebond partner.”

  “Does Fiona strike you as a woman who would purposely hurt anyone?” Cemil demanded.

  Armando’s gut told him she wouldn’t. But his intuition wasn’t connected with his truth-finding power. Every time he touched her, his powers revealed her many lies. The Department of Truth-Finding depended on his powers, not his instincts.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Armando quipped.

  “No talking,” Trixie said, slapping the lifebond ring back in his hand.

  Armando tucked it safely in his pocket. At first glance, the Department of Truth-Finding hadn’t appeared to have the capability to bring justice to criminals and protect the Syndicate, but Armando had known otherwise.

  “Looks are deceiving, indeed,” Cemil whispered sardonically. “You looked like a man of your word.”

  Cemil apparently had decided not to waste his empath skills on Armando. Armando was perfectly okay with that, grateful even, as long as Cemil didn’t attempt to block his investigation. “Are you going to have Cyrus and Rekkus kick me out?”

  “Not as long as Myron believes you are instrumental to Fiona’s healing. But you need to try harder to pretend you’re on vacation. That ring better not come out of your pocket again. Go swimming in the lake, soak in the hot springs, hook up with one of the humans who are here looking for a good time. In fact, why stop with one? Both those women you talked to after dinner last night would have let you screw them blind.”

  Armando took a deep breath. Only one woman he’d met so far had interested him on a physical level, and he did not sleep with murder suspects. Although, since he’d seen her in person, he could no longer picture Fiona involved, no matter how many lies she’d told him.

  Trixie wrapped up the meditation class. The black-haired dark-skinned woman and her equally beautiful red-headed fair-skinned friend Armando had met last night joined him and Cemil. “We’re going to the hot springs. You men feel like joining us?”

  Cemil raised his eyebrows at Armando. Then he turned to the ladies and cleared his throat. “I’d only be competing with you for this studly man’s attention. And, although I’ll grant you he’s hot, smooth-talking slippery politicians aren’t my type at all.”

  Armando opened his mouth to protest that he was an investigator and seeker of the truth for the greater good, not a truth-twisting politician willing to sacrifice the safety of the Syndicate to tout that he’d eliminated government waste. As if the Department of Truth-Finding was a waste of money.

  “You three have fun. I’m off to convince a lovely guest to eat with someone other than Serena at dinner tonight,” Cemil continued. If he hadn’t made it clear which way his preferences lie, Armando might have thought he was attempting to keep Fiona for himself.

  As it was, Armando hoped Cemil was successful in convincing Fiona. He needed firm answers to deliver results to the Syndicate. If she was as innocent as his gut was beginning to believe, the truth of those answers would leave him free to explore the way she intrigued him personally.

  “Oh, invite those guys to the hot springs, too,” the red-haired woman said to her friend, waving enthusiastically to a couple of young weres walking by.

  “The more the merrier, right?” The other woman winked at Armando.

  “Sure,” he muttered, wishing the mediation class had put him the relaxed, carefree mood the instructor had promised. The women fell over themselves to include the boys, while Armando faded back. They left him behind so easily he doubted they realized he was no longer a member of their party.

  He wandered the grounds, considered knocking on Fiona’s door with extra pillows, scented herbs, or trays of food as he had last night. Since she hadn’t answered him then and he hadn’t made any progress in winning her over this morning, he didn’t expect results. But he needed to make headway soon. He’d promised the Syndicate leaders he’d be back in the office first thing tomorrow morning with a murder suspect in handcuffs.

  Fiona entered the dining room at the last possible moment and looked around. The familiar feeling of wanting to bolt to the safety of her room clutched at her throat, but the truth was no one paid any attention to her.

  The other guests had made friends with each other over the course of the day while she’d been hiding out. Serena was already eating with one such group. The tables were full of loud laughter and boisterous conversations, far different from the whispering snickers that accompanied rumors of her disgrace and shame.

  Someone snatched a chair from a table for two in the corner of the dark green side, squeezing it around a larger table with his friends. Perfect. Fiona weaved her way to the now-solo table. She reached the remaining chair just as another man put his hand on it.

  “Looks like we both had the same idea.” Armando smiled at her.

  “Right.” She’d made a fool of herself this morning when she ran off, and she still wasn’t ready to face him. No one else automatically associated a random lifebond ring with Lizbet.

  She looked around the dining room. Only a handful of empty chairs were left, all at large crowded tables. This island had sounded so secluded. She’d expected to be alone for the entire week. Instead, she was more surrounded than if she’d never left home.

  “You go ahead and sit.” Armando held the chair out for her.

  “Thanks.” She sat, grateful that he let her have the table. She’d have to make an effort to be more friendly next time they ran into each other.

  She admired his broad back as he trotted away purposefully. A moment later, however, he stopped at a table across the room, lifted an empty chair over his head and wove his way toward her.

  She stared, open-mouthed, as he set the chair down opposite her. “You’re going to sit with me?”

  “Of course. What did you think I planned to do?” He shot her another disarming smile and stretched his hand across the table to touch her fingertips. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” she lied. She pulled her hand free. His fingers were warm against her icy ones. She hadn’t been able to shake the chill since seeing that lifebond ring in meditation class, but already her soul warmed in his presence.

  Blast her traitorous thoughts. She’d much rather stay shivering cold than allow any man close. That would never change, even if she managed to redeem her disgraced Vetter status.

  “Wonderful.” He smiled, showing off his strikingly white, straight teeth.

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. He had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen.

  “So, I’ve been wondering.” Armando eyed her speculatively. “What makes you never want to see another lifebond ring as long as you live?”

  He sure knew how to pop a mood killer of a question. She
tried to think of a plausible reason someone would freak out over a generic ring. “Oh, you know, everyone else finding their lifebond partner and rubbing it in the single lady’s face.” She shrugged, painfully aware her excuse was paper thin and made her look like she was fishing to hook up with him.

  Thankfully, the staff set a heaping plate of food in front of her, giving her an excuse to redirect the conversation. “Wow, I didn’t think I had an appetite, but the smell alone makes me ravenous. What about you?”

  “My appetite’s bigger here,” he agreed. “My energy is off the charts. The entire resort makes me feel like it doesn’t matter what my life is like back home. I can just relax and be myself, you know?”

  She paused with her first forkful lifted to her lips. No, she didn’t know. How could she when she was always pretending to be someone she wasn’t? “Yeah,” she muttered.

  His fingers brushed across her arm again, and he treated her to another smile, this one almost bittersweet. “The Wiccan Haus is pretty incredible, isn’t it? The Rowan siblings have combined all their powers to heal people in a way that really serves the greater good.”

  “The greater good?” Who concerned themselves with that?

  “To help the most people,” he explained. “The sad truth is that not everyone does. Some people waste or ignore their powers or, worse, use them for evil. Powers are meant to help others.”

  Fiona shuddered. He was serious. “How can you make a blanket policy like that? Some powers hurt the person who has them and should never be used.”

  His fingers skimmed her wrist again, leaving it tingling. “Give me an example.”

  Her own example wasn’t an option. She could never acknowledge her power. She glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on Cyrus in the doorway. Everyone knew his retro-cog power had nearly destroyed him when he worked for the Syndicate government.

  “Cyrus’s ability to know the history of an object simply by touching it. Constantly immersing himself in that evil wounded him so much he needed to stop using his power, get away from the world and heal.”